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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959399">a good man goes to war</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma'>MotherKarizma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Army, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Bittersweet Ending, Custody Arrangements, Divorce, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Military, Military Families, Minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Oneshot, Parent Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Redemption, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:42:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t do it, Tony. Neither can Morgan. We can't be your perfect Army wife and Army brat. We can’t keep waiting around for someone who only lets us down. We <em>can’t</em>.”</p><p>Tony would have fought her on that, but he was just as tired of fighting as his girls were of waiting. His eyes flickered to his hat and boots stationed so neatly by the front door, to Morgan’s stuffed Stitch toy left on the opposite end of the couch, to the bottle of Jack he’d picked over his family. Tony searched the room, searched himself, searched for the answer to <em>why didn’t you love them right?</em></p><p>He came up, to nobody’s surprise, empty.</p><p>-----</p><p>Or: Major Stark and Lieutenant Parker navigate a nine-month deployment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) &amp; Tony Stark, Pepper Potts &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a good man goes to war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a huge, <em>huge</em> thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FerretShark/pseuds/FerretShark">FerretShark</a> for letting me ask her five thousand military related questions over the past two weeks, and for beta-reading this fic for accuracy! also, thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest">seekrest</a> for giving this fic a pre-read for comprehension! </p><p>all i can say about this fic is that it's cost me two straight weeks of blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention many bottles of wine. never has a fic drained me so entirely. i'm going to take a twelve hour nap after this.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4KtjifWRNGCPFuqDdr1e5W?si=2-qHj3ZUT-iuWVNQ073D1w">here's a spotify playlist i made specifically for this fic</a></p><p> </p><p>enjoy!</p><p>"demons run when a good man goes to war<br/>night will fall and drown the sun<br/>when a good man goes to war<br/>friendship dies and true love lies<br/>night will fall and the dark will rise<br/>when a good man goes to war<br/>demons run but count the cost<br/>the battle's won but the child is lost<br/>the fight goes on but what's it for<br/>when a good man goes to war"<br/>- <em>doctor who,</em> season 6, episode 7</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took Pepper longer than usual to put Morgan to bed that night - almost an hour longer. Tony didn’t think to question it. Maybe he should have. But instead, he sat with his feet kicked up on the coffee table beside an open bottle of Jack Daniel’s, fingers indolent around a condensation-coated lowball glass. Some dumb sitcom he couldn’t give two shits about played, and the TV’s glow bathed him in light. Tony muted it when the characters <em> ooh</em>’d and <em> ah</em>’d at a (crackle-pop-bang) firework show.</p><p>When Pepper finally came back downstairs, her eyes were rimmed red, her jaw was set, and her lips were poised with just the right words to tear his life apart: “I can't do this anymore."</p><p>Tony sat up straight and swayed, dizzy with the sudden posture change. He tried to set his empty glass down nicely, but it clattered and fell onto its side. He left it.</p><p>“Huh?” He slurred. “You’re - you’re crying. Why are you crying?”</p><p>Pepper choked on a humorless laugh and turned away from him, wiping angrily at her eyes. “And you’re drunk. Of course. Fantastic. Why wouldn’t you be?”</p><p>“I’m not drunk.”</p><p>“Sure you aren’t. And you weren’t drunk last night, or the night before that, or every night for the past, what, eight months?”</p><p>Tony just sat there, paralyzed, and stared at her like he might set off an IED if he so much as twitched a single muscle. Then there was an audible hitch in her breath and, slowly, he moved. He shifted to sit on the edge of the couch, an inch closer to where Pepper stood at the foot of the staircase, but not close enough. It felt like shifting toward the edge of a cliff, fingers outstretched for somebody across the canyon. Bits of earth crumbled and fell into the abyss beneath him, a warning. He moved closer still.</p><p>Tony looked down and realized, suddenly, clear as day, that his precarious perch was nothing new. He’d been there for eight months already, vision blurred and head foggy, heart locked away. </p><p>Once upon a time, Pepper had reached out to him, too. She didn’t now. She was turned away from him, shaking shoulders caved inward like an admission of defeat - her white flag. It was too late for him to take her hand. She was tired of waiting.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Tony said, because he wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was, if there even was a right thing. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>He said so, but the worst part wasn’t that Pepper rejected it, though she did. The worst part was that he didn’t mean it. Not really. Not in all the ways he knew he was supposed to. Not enough to change. </p><p>“You’re not,” Pepper said. She knew him too well to buy into such bullshit. “If you were sorry, your daughter wouldn’t have just cried herself to sleep, asking me when her daddy’s going to get better, because the only way I’ve been able to explain why you won’t play with her anymore is by telling her you’re sick. If you were sorry, you’d go up there right now and fix that shit. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”</p><p>Tony swallowed. He wasn’t. He wouldn’t even know where to begin. “I’m…”</p><p>“I can’t do it, Tony. Neither can Morgan. We can't be your perfect Army wife and Army brat. We can’t keep waiting around for someone who only lets us down. We <em> can’t.</em>”</p><p>Tony would have fought her on that, but he was just as tired of fighting as his girls were of waiting. His eyes flickered to his hat and boots stationed so neatly by the front door, to Morgan’s stuffed Stitch toy left on the opposite end of the couch, to the bottle of Jack he’d picked over his family. Tony searched the room, searched himself, searched for the answer to <em> why didn’t you love them right? </em></p><p>He came up, to nobody’s surprise, empty.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"How the hell could you not fight for your own daughter?" </p><p>Pepper found him outside the courtroom, her arms crossed and her eyes ablaze. Tony stood with the weight of the world dragging his shoulders downward, but he faced her wrath head-on; he'd expected it.</p><p>Visitation rights. He could have easily scored joint custody, and they both damn well knew it. Nobody had exactly been keen to try and pry an active service Army Major's child away from him.</p><p>Nobody but himself.</p><p>"Because you were right," he said simply. "She can't keep waiting around for someone who's only gonna let her down. Neither can you. You both deserve better."</p><p>Pepper blinked, taken aback. The fury and indignance she'd wielded on Morgan's behalf faltered. At Pepper's side, Morgan hid her face in the hem of her mother's shirt and covered her ears, blocking out their bickering. </p><p>"You could have gotten yourself together," Pepper said. All the fight drained from her body in an instant, and Tony realized that him getting himself together was what she'd counted on all along. "We could have had joint custody. Hell, we could have stayed together in the first place. Things didn't have to be this way, Tony. You're only sabotaging yourself."</p><p>But she had it so, <em> so </em> backwards. "I'm not sabotaging me. I'm protecting you."</p><p>He turned to leave, trying hard to ignore the stab of guilt he felt at not even addressing Morgan, but Pepper called after his retreating form with a quiver in her voice: "You'll never protect anybody by hurting them. Is that what you've learned to do, Tony? Is that why good men like you go to war?"</p><p><em> Yes</em>, Tony thought, but he kept his mouth shut and his back straight as he left.</p><p>He needed a drink.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The house was far too quiet.</p><p>There was a distinct lack of giggling or off-key singing as Tony passed by (what used to be) Morgan’s bedroom, which was now hollowed and haunted. His daughter’s life had been carved out of his home and transplanted elsewhere, each toy and snow-white piece of a furniture set severed, leaving him with the empty, pink-walled shell of youth.</p><p>Tony locked the door from the inside and closed it. A small, naive part of him hoped he could lock the pain away within those four walls. But he went back out to the living room, pulling his tie off as he went, only to find that the mantel above the fireplace was bare. Pepper had kept her collection of scented candles atop it. There was no way to hide this emptiness from view; a mantle was, by design, a place to display things. It wasn’t the mantle’s fault he had nothing left worth displaying.</p><p>Every blank space, every crevice he hadn’t realized had housed something until it didn’t anymore, screamed at him: <em> look at how desolate you are, look at all the nothing you have.  </em></p><p>Tony stumbled into their - <em> his </em> - bedroom, breath ragged, and stripped the suit jacket off, threw his belt to the ground, kicked his dress shoes aside. The outfit was itchy and hot, restrictive of his oxygen intake. The house itself felt restrictive. The fucking entirety of Fort Drum felt restrictive, a feeling which put an ache in his chest. He’d never thought so before.</p><p>But it was different now. Everything was different. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.</p><p>He had no right to complain, though, Tony thought bitterly as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants, grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey from his dressertop, and poured the evening’s first glass. He’d quite literally asked for this hell. He’d brought the misery upon himself.</p><p>The misery felt safer somehow, more familiar to him than contentment. Misery was simple and predictable. There was no place left for a man to fall if his back was already pressed against the cold ground. </p><p>Nobody could take his family away from him if he beat them to it.</p><p>And with that thought, Tony drank the sunset away. The sky grew dark, foreboding, the last tendrils of sunlight soaked up by the moon. With every drink poured, his head grew lighter and his heart heavier. It was simultaneously freeing and imprisoning. Tony couldn’t decide whether or not he’d actually made the best decision, but he knew he’d made the one which would finally offer Morgan some stability. He’d sacrificed himself, like he always did. To him, that almost felt like love.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>He was eight drinks deep by the time Rhodey showed up, holding a large, brown paper bag.</p><p>“Uh...hi?” Tony swayed in place, leaning heavily against the open front door. His right knee buckled, and he caught himself. The ice rattled in his near empty glass. </p><p>Rhodey’s face fell. He radiated disappointment with a dash of anger and a sprinkle of concern. “You forgot I was coming over.”</p><p>It wasn’t a question. Tony ducked his head in refusal as Rhodey tried to catch his eyes. Shame flooded his chest. “No. ‘Course not. You, uh...you’re here to…”</p><p>He didn’t realize he was beginning to tip over until Rhodey abruptly stepped inside, deposited the paper bag on the entryway table, and grasped his elbow. </p><p>“To stop you from keeling over, apparently,” he said, then sighed. “Come on, Tones. You need to sit down.”</p><p>The bag turned out to contain dinner - a plan Tony slowly began to remember as they ate on the couch in tense silence. Rhodey had been unable to take the day off from his Colonel duties to be Tony’s moral support in court, so he’d promised a late dinner and a rewatching of <em> Die Hard </em> instead. The man had clearly just come from work, seeing as he was still in uniform. He’d taken the time after a long, busy day to come and spend an evening with his best friend, only to end up babysitting a drunk. </p><p>Tony had always nursed a particular talent for royally fucking things up, but that skill seemed to be improving by the day. Lucky him.</p><p>“Visitation rights,” Tony mumbled as he clumsily lifted a forkful of lo mein to his mouth. “No legal custody.”</p><p>To his credit, Rhodey looked genuinely surprised. “Damn. That sucks. No wonder you’re wasted. Is there any way you could appeal?”</p><p>“No. ‘S what I wanted. Didn’t want custody.”</p><p>“You - <em> what?</em>” Rhodey shook his head. “Finish eating so you can go to bed, Tones. You’re not thinking straight.”</p><p>Tony shook his head, defiant, and pushed his carton and fork away. His problem wasn’t that he couldn’t think straight. His anguish was rooted in the fact that, for the first time ever, he <em> was</em>.</p><p>“They don’t need me,” he said. “Only...only hurting them. Fucking everything up. They don’t need that shit. Sure as hell don’t deserve it.”</p><p>Rhodey scooted toward him and gripped his bicep tight - whether to keep him from faceplanting into the coffee table or to shake some sense into him, Tony couldn’t tell. Both, maybe.</p><p>“The solution isn’t to run away and leave Pepper to clean up the mess, Tony. The solution is to lace up your boots and get to work fixing whatever it is you’ve fucked up. That’s how a good man handles his shit.”</p><p><em> A good man. </em> “Why...why th’ fuck does everybody want me to be a <em> good man?</em>”</p><p>“Because you used to be one.”</p><p>Tony’s throat grew tight, and he swallowed hard. He couldn’t even blame Rhodey for not pulling the punch of<em> used to be. </em> His best friend had always been a truth-teller.</p><p>Luckily, even when he was a truth teller, he remained a best friend.</p><p>“Come on,” Rhodey said, voice suddenly much softer, and hauled Tony off the couch. “You’re dead on your feet. Let’s get you to bed.”</p><p>Tony opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. He knew the Colonel well enough to realize he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. </p><p>“Thanks,” he whispered once Rhodey had dumped him into his bed, thrown the covers over him, and set a glass of water on the nightstand. </p><p>Rhodey settled on the edge of the mattress and placed a tender palm against the side of Tony’s head. </p><p>“You know what?” He said, gearing up, and Tony squeezed his eyes shut, not ready - not <em> willing </em> - to accept whatever truth bomb he was about to be ambushed with. “I’ve seen this type of shit enough times over to know how it goes - and I know <em> you. </em> Something’s gonna end up pushing you back to your family someday, Tony, and it’s either gonna be love or tragedy. For your sake, I hope it’s the first one.”</p><p>Tony had no response to that. He rolled over and waited until the front door clicked shut before he began to cry. </p><p>He hoped it would be neither. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony missed Morgan’s fifth birthday party. He called at bedtime the next night to apologize. Pepper was understandably furious.</p><p>She was even more furious when he took the opportunity to inform her that his next deployment began in less than two weeks.</p><p>“You should have told me sooner,” she hissed, though Tony could tell she was trying to hold it together for Morgan’s sake. He could also tell without seeing her that her brows were probably furrowed together, her jaw likely clenched, her eyes undoubtedly covered by a thin sheen of unshed tears. You couldn’t stay married to somebody for twenty years and not come to know such things. “You know how hard this is going to be on Morgan. I could have started preparing her a month ago.”</p><p>“What’s there to prepare her for?” Tony snapped, and he heard his ex-wife suck in a sharp breath at the suddenness of it. “Fuck, Pep. It won’t be any different. I’ll call and FaceTime her and she’ll be pissed because I’m not there in person to hug her. What’s going to be new about it?”</p><p>“You know what’s different,” Pepper whispered. “You might not...Tony. There’s no guarantee you’ll c-o-m-e b-a-c-k.”</p><p>She spelled each letter out, slow and careful. Tony swallowed. “You think I don’t know that?”</p><p>“I think you don’t know how much you still mean to your daughter.”</p><p>The way she said it struck a chord. How much he <em> still </em>meant. Like Pepper thought he might not mean quite as much to Morgan at some unidentifiable point in the future. Like she would get used to life without a father. </p><p>Pepper was right. Tony shouldn’t have been as irked by that as he was. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?</p><p>Was it?</p><p>“Put her on,” he said, strained. “Please.”</p><p>Pepper sighed shakily on the other end of the line. “Morgan? Do you want to talk to Daddy?”</p><p>Tony closed his eyes and grit his teeth through the conversation with his daughter, which was barely a conversation - she refused to speak.</p><p>This was what he wanted. This was what he wanted. This was what he wanted.</p><p>Was it?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The tarmac teemed with life and anxiety.</p><p>Parents tried not to weep over their fresh-faced, first-deployment Privates. Spouses with oblivious toddlers held onto their service members a little too tight. Officers with more years up their sleeves, more trepidation in their eyes than determination, hugged their teenagers goodbye.</p><p>Tony stood alone.</p><p>It was nothing more or less than he’d expected. He’d worried (hoped) that Pepper would defy his wishes and show up with Morgan in tow. She didn’t. There were no new notifications on his phone, either, no sign that she’d even remembered what day it was.</p><p><em> Good, </em> he told himself firmly. That was good. They needed to move on, to leave him in the dust, to look forward to new horizons he wasn’t invited to explore. That was good. Good for them. Good, good, <em> good. </em></p><p>But fuck if it didn’t hurt like hell.</p><p>“Excuse me, sir? I have one singing telegram for a Major Tony Stark.”</p><p>Tony whirled around, breath caught in his throat, and blinked back a sudden wave of tears. “If you start singing to me, I’ll punch you in the face.”</p><p>Rhodey, standing there in his civilian clothes, grinned. “What, did you expect me to let you leave for nine months without saying goodbye? Come on, Tones. You know me better than that.”</p><p>Tony did. He also knew Rhodey well enough to know that the eye roll and sigh he emitted when Tony went in for a hug were in good jest; he hugged him back just as tight.</p><p>“Take care of yourself, honey bear,” Tony said over Rhodey’s shoulder. </p><p>Rhodey scoffed. “‘Take care of yourself?’ That’s supposed to be my line.”</p><p>“You’re just as bad as me.”</p><p>“I’m really not.”</p><p>He really wasn’t. “You are.”</p><p>“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tones.”</p><p>Tony pushed down the unwelcome swell of emotion that phrasing conjured up. Nothing helped him sleep at night - not even the alcohol. Sokovia always rested patiently behind his eyelids, waiting for him to return.</p><p>He pulled back and clapped Rhodey firmly on the shoulder. ”Do me a favor. If the girls need anything while I’m gone…”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll be there.”</p><p>Something sharp flashed through Rhodey’s eyes, and though he kept his voice soft, Tony heard the unspoken loud and clear: he asked Rhodey to be there for his family, but he refused to be there for them himself. The gesture reeked of cowardice.</p><p>It <em> was </em>cowardice. He was a coward.</p><p>“You need to do me a favor, too,” Rhodey said, and Tony cocked his head questioningly. “You need to come back in one piece.”</p><p>“You know I can’t promise that.”</p><p>“Humor me.”</p><p>Tony sighed. “I’ll do everything I can to come back in one piece. That’s what I can promise you. Take it or leave it.”</p><p>“That’s barely anything, but I’ll take what I can get.”</p><p>“That’s what she said.”</p><p>Rhodey gave him a light shove, and Tony couldn’t help but grin.</p><p>“You’re an asshole,” Rhodey said. “Be careful out there.”</p><p>“Always am, honey bear.”</p><p>If Tony had known what would come of his seventh deployment, he wouldn’t have left with such faux confidence plastered on his face.</p><p>He wouldn’t have left at all.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hold it steady, Walker. This isn’t a game. Stop fucking around.”</p><p>The Private in question immediately adjusted his grip on the M4 Carbine rifle, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”</p><p>Tony stepped over the man’s legs and moved onto the next soldier, who also lay on his front, peering at his rectangular target over a low barrier of sandbags. </p><p>“That kickback’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” Tony said without stopping. He glanced back just long enough to see the man fit the gunstock correctly, away from his clavicle. </p><p>As Tony weaved through the row of soldiers, he occasionally granted a snippet of advice or, more frequently, a chide. Afghanistan’s sun beat down on them, relentless, like a land’s cry for mercy or a deity’s punishment (which one? Tony didn’t think himself qualified to decide). He wiped a trickle of sweat from his hairline with the back of his hand before it could drip into his eyes.</p><p>“Up!” The Sergeant who was officially running the drill barked, and all the Privates were on their feet in an instant. “Finish your ammo!”</p><p>Another few moments of staggered shots began. Just beneath the din of noise, Tony heard a voice to his left, too calm and kind for such a godforsaken place: “Remember to keep your toes pointed like this, Private - they don’t teach you proper stance for no reason. It’ll help your marksmanship. See? When you do it right, your aim isn’t half-bad.”</p><p>“Thank you, Sir.”</p><p>“No trouble at all, Private Walker.”</p><p>Tony tried to assuage his curiosity, but it got the better of him; he turned. A kid who couldn’t have been much older than Walker - if not a year or two younger - kicked the Private’s feet into position and demonstrated a more efficient grasp on the M4. The insignia on his uniform was that of a single, golden bar. His mouth twitched upward when Walker hit the outer ring of a bullseye on his next shot. </p><p>“Lieutenant,” Tony said when Walker seemed to have a handle on things, and the kid’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “To me.”</p><p>Tony barely had time to blink before the young officer was in front of him with a respectful, “Yes, Sir?”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em> a second Lieutenant?” Tony raised a brow at him. “What’s your name? How old are you?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” he said without missing a beat. “Lieutenant Peter Parker - I’m nineteen, Sir.”</p><p>“Nineteen?” Tony tried and failed to keep the surprise off his face. “How the hell did you manage that?”</p><p>“I graduated high school ROTC, Sir, then Officer Candidacy School.” He looked ever so slightly sheepish as he added, “This is my first deployment.”</p><p>“You from Fort Drum?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir.”</p><p>Tony gave him an appraising once-over. “Hm.”</p><p>Parker rocked on his heels for just a moment before he caught himself - a bad habit, it seemed, and a childish one at that. It didn’t help that he had a serious case of baby-face. If not for the cut edge of his jaw, Tony would have wondered at first glance how the hell some sixteen year old managed to sneak his way to an Army base in the Middle East.</p><p>“Did you need me for anything, Sir?” Parker asked. Tony looked the Lieutenant over again. He was all sincerity and humility, all kindness and respect. It was refreshing. A lot of Second Lieutenants came up with air-blown heads, ready to lord their commissioned status over enlisted men who had twenty years on them in both age and service. </p><p>Not this one.</p><p>“No, Lieutenant,” Tony said just as the Sergeant called all the Privates over for a full-gear run in the sand. “Just wanted to make my introductions. I’m Major Stark. If we’re gonna spend nine months serving in this hellscape together, we should at least know one another’s names.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” Parker agreed dutifully.</p><p>And there was a moment - just a split second, really, but plenty long enough - where Tony made the mistake of meeting the kid’s eyes. They were big, brown, and eager.</p><p>And, unfortunately, they looked a hell of a lot like Morgan’s.</p><p>Tony faked a cough to excuse his sharp inhale, then said in a somewhat unsteady voice, “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”</p><p>Parker left with a nod and a slight smile, jogging to catch up with the Sergeant and the huffing and puffing Privates. Tony stood still for a moment and stared after him.</p><p>It felt like a short-circuit of the brain, a shock to his fucking <em> soul </em>if he had one, to see his daughter’s innocent eyes looking back at him beneath this desert’s unforgiving sun. A blip in the matrix. A middle finger in the face of how things were supposed to be. </p><p>But hadn’t his entire life thus far been a middle finger in the face of how things were supposed to be?</p><p>Tony turned to look at Private Walker’s target one last time - a dead-on bullseye, right in the center, another near-bullseye on the ring - and went to rejoin the drill.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next time Tony came across Lieutenant Parker, the kid sat circled up criss-cross on the ground with a handful of like-aged Privates, each with a few playing cards in hand and two more piles centered between everyone.</p><p>“Major Stark!” Parker called as he passed by. Reluctantly, Tony stopped and turned to face him. He was, frankly, surprised the kid still remembered his name two and a half weeks after their short interaction. “Do you want to join us, Sir?”</p><p>“Poker?” Tony eyed the gaggle of eighteen to twenty year olds with suspicion, taking note of the distinct lack of chips.</p><p>Parker blinked. “Crazy Eights.”</p><p>But of course, Tony thought with a smirk. They were naught but babies. It might as well have been Go Fish. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to interrupt circle time.”</p><p>And it happened again, just as sudden and heart-wrenching as the first time: Lieutenant Parker looked at him with both understanding and a flash of disappointment, but to Tony, his eyes were Morgan’s. Big, brown, and reverent, they stared right through him. Stared right through his bullshit. </p><p>“Yes, Sir,” Parker said, deferential and kind, but with that subtle, dull note of dismay woven beneath. “We’ll be here if you change your mind.”</p><p>Tony cleared his throat. “Don’t spend all day playing. Finish this game and then go find something productive to do. I’m sure there are some floors somewhere around here that could be scrubbed.”</p><p>There was a chorus of <em> yes, Sir, </em> and all the Privates turned their eyes away from him to the ground or their laps.</p><p>Lieutenant Parker stared openly at Tony as he said his piece, eyes searching him. Not for the sake of pushing the envelope or testing boundaries, Tony could tell. Parker searched him for truth. He wanted to know what made the grumpy Major tick.</p><p>Tony found he couldn’t begrudge the kid his curiosity, as much as it irked him. That burgeoning question of <em> what gears are turning inside of you, what mechanics run your brain? </em> was exactly what had driven him to Rhodey. A question that once catapulted him into a steel-strong, eighteen year and counting friendship could never be an inherently bad question.</p><p>He just wasn’t ready to answer it.</p><p>Tony met (<em>Morgan’s</em>) Parker’s eyes and said stiffly, begrudgingly, “Maybe another time.” He could tell by the look on the kid’s face that they both knew damn well he was lying.</p><p>But Tony believed - incessantly forced himself to believe - it was the thought that counted.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I swear to fuck, Rhodes. Carbon copy. Somebody cloned my child’s eyes and gave them to a baby-faced Lieutenant.”</p><p>Rhodey huffed. Tony could practically hear the grin in his voice, and he couldn’t help but smile, too.</p><p>“Or maybe it’s just that Morgan isn’t the only person on the planet who has brown eyes,” Rhodey said dryly.</p><p>“Boring. I like my theory better.”</p><p>“Tony, <em> you </em>have brown eyes - and so do billions of other people. It’s not exactly a unique trait.”</p><p>“Irrelevant.”</p><p>“You’re impossible,” Rhodey joked, but then he went quiet.</p><p>Tony adjusted his head on the pillow and swallowed down his uncertainty. “Rhodes? You still there?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”</p><p>“About?”</p><p>There was another pause, but shorter this time. Rhodey released a slow, controlled breath on the other end of the line, and Tony knew him well enough to realize he was about to dive into waters that had thus far been unexplored - and that had likely been left that way for good reason. Neither of them could ever leave well enough alone. </p><p>“Do you think…” Rhodey started, slow and uncertain, “do you think maybe you’re seeing Morgan in this kid because you miss her? And maybe...maybe because you feel guilty?”</p><p>“I don’t feel guilty,” Tony said, an immediate, defensive reaction. An indignance that he knew was uncalled for rose to burn in his chest. “What would I feel guilty about?”</p><p>Rhodey spoke with far too much deliberate calm, as if he were presenting an appeal to reason to a man standing on a ledge. “Come on, Tones. You didn’t exactly spend a whole lot of time with her before you left. You’ve seen her since court - what, maybe twice?”</p><p>“What’s your point?” Tony snapped.</p><p>“Seeing your daughter twice in <em> six months? </em> For an hour at a time? I know you, Tony. You’re not an asshole. You know that’s not right. There’s no way you don’t feel bad about it-”</p><p>“I gotta go.”</p><p>“Tones-”</p><p>“Duty calls. Sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”</p><p>Tony dropped the phone onto the mattress. The room was silent. No call to action demanded his attention. Late afternoon light shone through the window to the left of his bed, and Tony thought of the time difference between Afghanistan and New York - eight and a half hours. It was mid-September. Morgan would have started Kindergarten by now. She was likely just rousing for the morning, brushing her teeth and hair, preparing to face another day where her mother loved her and her father was a ghost.</p><p>It was a shame he couldn’t make her - or anyone - understand that things were better this way. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony told himself it was merely a coincidence that he and Parker kept running into each other in the quiet moments, the lulls in action, the rare pauses for breath in a deployed service member’s day. </p><p>It wasn’t.</p><p>He asked the Lieutenant’s opinion on things, even in situations where an opinion from somebody of his ranking could be considered near irrelevant. He went out of his way to find Parker and designate him to tasks that any Private he passed along the way could have easily done. Parker always complied (it was almost like he didn’t know <em> how </em>to complain). Tony seeked out those eyes whether he meant to or not. It was nice to have that sort of youthful gaze look at him with confidence and admiration rather than (well-deserved) distaste and hesitance.</p><p>And maybe it was true that Tony missed Morgan like hell, that Parker esteemed him the way he wished Morgan would, that he allowed himself to revel in the fact that someone trusted him because he felt ashamed Morgan couldn’t.</p><p>But that didn’t mean Rhodey was right. Not at all. It just meant there were similarities between his psychological analysis and reality. It just…</p><p>...it just meant Rhodey was right.</p><p>Goddamn it.</p><p>“Major Stark,” Lieutenant Parker said, a smile on his face, the contents of an open cardboard box laid out in front of him. “Do you want anything?”</p><p>Tony’s chest ached at the offer. The care package had clearly been put together with Parker in mind. The inside flaps were adorned with Halloween decorations, the items hand-detailed and personalized. “Nah. That’s yours, Lieutenant. It’s not mine to take.”</p><p>“Sharing is caring, Sir.” Parker reached into the box, retrieved a pouch of ghost-shaped Peeps, and held it out. “I won’t eat all of it, anyway.”</p><p>Tony hated Peeps. This particular package had clearly melted and re-solidified at some point during transit.</p><p>He took them. “Thanks, Parker.”</p><p>“You’re welcome, Sir.”</p><p>The grin Parker gave him was blinding, and Tony promised himself he’d dispose of the Peeps in such a way that the Lieutenant would never have to know.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony wasn’t sure exactly how it happened.</p><p>The whole concept of making new friends on deployment was beyond him. He certainly never planned on it. He was there to do a job and do it well, and he fully expected others to share his work ethic. Besides: it was a miracle Rhodey had stuck around for so long, and Pepper for even longer before Tony finally succeeded in shoving her away. He didn’t need another person to disappoint. </p><p>But somehow, inexplicably, he ended up in front of Parker’s glowing laptop screen while the sun set around them and the first of the night’s mosquitos began to buzz, laughing way too hard at a John Mulaney special. Tony had never seen the comedian perform before, and he didn’t find him particularly funny. But that didn’t matter.</p><p>When Parker laughed, his big, brown Bambi (<em>Morgan</em>) eyes lit up.</p><p><em> That </em>mattered.</p><p>“I haven’t been able to appreciate <em> Back to the Future </em> in two years.” The Lieutenant’s face glowed with mirth. “Mulaney ruined it for me. Forever. Rest in peace, my early childhood obsession.”</p><p>Tony scoffed. “I thought your early childhood obsession was LEGO?”</p><p>“Don’t limit me,” Parker said, then suddenly stiffened, expression icey and impassive, not meeting the older man’s eyes. “Major Stark. Sir. Sorry.”</p><p>Tony nudged the kid’s shoulder with his own and said half-jokingly, “At ease, Lieutenant. My panties aren’t in a twist.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir. Sorry.”</p><p>“Seriously, Parker, it’s fine. Just don’t let the Privates hear you skimping. The last thing I need on my hands is a mutiny.”</p><p>That earned a slight twitch of a smile from the kid, much to Tony’s relief. </p><p>“Of course not, Sir,” Parker said, respectful but relaxed. “Did you like those ghost Peeps?”</p><p>Tony winced. “Uh. About that…”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By mid-November, the kid looked just about the same as everyone did three months into their first deployment: lost and perpetually exhausted. </p><p>“Lieutenant,” Tony said one day as his fellow service member passed him by, and it wasn’t until he gripped Parker’s shoulder with a firm hand that the kid turned to face him. “Lieutenant Parker. Hey. Look at me. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”</p><p>“I slept last night.” Parker’s voice was too foggy to be believable, eyes far too sluggish as he blinked. “I’m alright, Sir.”</p><p>“For how long?”</p><p>The kid swayed beneath Tony’s hand. “Sir?”</p><p>“How long did you sleep for last night, Lieutenant?”</p><p>“I’m...I don’t…”</p><p>“You don’t know,” Tony said. It wasn’t a question.</p><p>Parker looked even more sheepish, if that was at all possible. “No, Sir.”</p><p>“Of course you don’t.” Tony sighed and gave his shoulder a light shake. “Back to bed. Go.”</p><p>“Sir, I can’t-”</p><p>“You’re going to get yourself or somebody else killed walking around here in your state, Lieutenant. Is that what you want?”</p><p>Tony was, perhaps, a bit harsh in his phrasing, but it did the trick. Parker sighed, and all the tension melted from his posture. “No, Sir.”</p><p>“Good. Me, neither. Now get your ass back to bed.”</p><p>“People aren’t going to be happy about this.”</p><p>“No, they aren’t,” Tony said smoothly. It was true - a deployed officer was not often granted the luxury of sick days. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll take the heat. You’ve gotta follow a superior’s orders, right?”</p><p>The corners of Parker’s mouth twitched upwards sleepily. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>The kid turned and left, and Tony looked after him with wonder, bewilderment, and no small helping of fear.</p><p>What the hell had he gotten himself into?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By December, it became clear to Tony exactly what he’d gotten himself into.</p><p>Friendship.</p><p>Friendship with a touch of mentorship and a sprinkle of pseudo-parental guidance, to be specific. This was the exact recipe for disaster. They lived smack-dab in the middle of a warzone. It was no time for Tony to develop emotional attachments to his fellow officers.</p><p>And yet - <em> yet. </em></p><p>Parker received another care package a couple of weeks before Christmas, just as well-decorated and seasonally festive as the last. He insisted on Tony being around when he opened it in the name of sharing, but he blushed and scrambled to hide the polaroid picture and handwritten note that fell out when he opened it. A glimpse of long, curly hair was visible before the photo was snatched up and turned face-down.</p><p>Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Guess your girlfriend’s been sending these packages, then? Don’t know who else would send the type of picture you need to hide-”</p><p>“Fiancee,” Parker corrected. The fire-engine red of his face was hilarious. Tony couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad for thinking so. “And it’s not - it’s not <em> that </em>kind of picture.”</p><p>“Oh? Then, pray tell, why can’t I see it?”</p><p>Parker, his smile diffident, turned the polaroid over. The version of himself that stood next to the curly-haired girl was a version rife with acne and visible teenage angst. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen.</p><p>“Ha, ha,” Parker grumbled when Tony laughed aloud at the sight. “That’s right. Soak in all my sophomore awkwardness. So funny. God, why’d she have to send <em> this </em>one?”</p><p>“Because it’s hilarious.” Tony tried to grab the photo, but Parker moved it out of his reach just in time. “Because she knew other people would see it. Speaking of which-”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>” Parker stuffed the photo into his pocket, grabbed a bag of Christmas-colored Skittles from the box, and placed it in Tony’s outstretched hand. "There. Show <em> that </em>off.”</p><p>Tony glared at him half-heartedly. “You’re lucky I like Skittles.”</p><p>It wasn’t technically a lie. He wasn’t much for sugar in general, but Morgan liked Skittles. Tony liked them by association.</p><p>He ate every last one.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His heart pounded, a kickdrum beat inside his throat, and his hands trembled. He clenched them tight as he jogged from the base toward the roadside. </p><p>One IED. Two vehicles down.</p><p>Lieutenant Parker was on that patrol.</p><p>“Casualties?” Tony asked roughly as one medic passed, the arm of a groaning, bleeding Private hooked around his shoulders. “Hey! <em> Casualties?"</em></p><p>“Doesn’t look good, Sir,” the medic said with a gasp and a hitch. “I’m not sure, Sir, but it doesn’t look good.”</p><p>Tony marched toward the rescue vehicles with his eyes afire and his heart displayed ever so dangerously on his sleeve. </p><p><em> Doesn’t look good </em> wasn’t an option. Not where the kid was concerned. </p><p>A pair of soldiers hurried past, carrying a man laid out on a backboard between them. One by one, the injured were lowered from the vehicles, some supine and others trudging along with help, but all with the same dark-eyed, haunted look on their faces.</p><p>Tony knew the look well. Memories reverberated in his bones at the sight, the days of Sokovia and Iraq blurring together with the present. He averted his eyes from their faces, breath snagging sharp around a faded panic, and searched instead for those familiar eyes among the sea of soldiers and officers surrounding him. His quest turned up, for those first few, terrifying moments, absolutely nothing.</p><p>“-didn’t see anyone - just some locals, they actually h-helped, but no, uh - no ambush, so-”</p><p>
  <em> Kid. </em>
</p><p>“Parker!” Tony said much harsher than he meant to. All the adrenaline in his body vacated with that one snake bite of a word, his legs left boneless and shaky beneath him like he’d just won a several hour long firefight.</p><p>Lieutenant Parker stood in a vehicle’s doorway, helping them lower the last backboarded soldier, this one far too quiet and still for Tony’s liking, into the hands of waiting medics. Parker’s combat uniform was smeared with dirt and his hands were caked in blood that didn’t look like it belonged to him. The pallor of his face was two shades lighter than Tony had ever seen it. He shook all over; even from a distance, his trembling was visible.</p><p>The kid’s head snapped up when Tony said his name. His expression, which had been one of forced bravery, crumbled into a blend of despair and relief. </p><p>“Major Stark,” he said, more of an exhale than speech. “Sir, we - we had no idea, we didn’t see anything on the roadside-”</p><p>Tony stepped forward, gripped the kid’s wrists, and tugged gently, urging him to come out of the vehicle. Parker did. He winced as he stepped down and his shoulder was jostled against the door. Tony made a mental note to check that out later. </p><p>But first things first: “Let’s get you cleaned up.”</p><p>“Sir-”</p><p>“No, Lieutenant.” The last injured man was carried off, and Tony lifted one hand to grasp the back of Parker’s neck as those big, brown eyes, now so full of fear and uncertainty, watched them go. “Look at me - <em> hey</em>. Eyes on me, Parker. We’re gonna get you cleaned up and calmed down for now. You can check on the others later.”</p><p>“I should be helping. I need to help, Sir.”</p><p>God, this kid. <em> This kid. </em> Always looking out for the little guy. “It’s not always your job to help, Lieutenant. You did good, but there’s nothing you can do for them now. You’re going to come with me and get cleaned up. That’s an order.”</p><p>Parker’s eyes darted after the figures in the distance only briefly before they turned back to him, and he nodded, hesitant. “Yes, Sir.”</p><p>Tony thanked whatever deity that might have been listening for this one, small favor: the Lieutenant’s self-sacrificial instincts were balanced out by his inclination toward obedience.</p><p>He also wondered, not for the first time, what the fuck he’d gotten himself into. The kid was dangerously, infuriatingly easy to like, easy to latch onto. It was precarious, unwise, and downright alarming.</p><p>Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders anyway. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Parker scrubbed his hands raw in the sink. Only the undersides of his nails still carried traces of blood. He scraped it out with acrimony. The air in the small bathroom was stifled by bitterness, regret, and heartache.</p><p>“Lieutenant,” Tony said from where he leaned against a wall, arms crossed protectively over his chest - protective from <em> what</em>, he wasn’t sure. The weight of Parker’s sorrow, maybe. Secondhand pain. His own affection. </p><p>Parker was spurred to speak, but his voice shook, and he kept his eyes locked on the bar of soap in his hands. “The first vehicle took most of the impact. I was in the second. We just got tossed around a little.”</p><p>“Parker.”</p><p>“I got out and watched the ridgeline. Private Declan radioed for rescue. Some locals came to help, which was nice - if the wrong person saw them helping us, they would have been in danger themselves. I had to watch the ridgeline ‘cause - because I thought it was an ambush, but it wasn’t, so-”</p><p>“<em>Kid."</em></p><p>At first, Tony thought it was the informal nickname that made Parker stiffen and fall silent. He even had his mouth open, poised to apologize - until he followed the Lieutenant’s gaze to his left shoulder, which Tony had just gripped tight. He dropped his hand at once.</p><p>“You’re hurt,” Tony continued, not a question but a statement. “How bad?”</p><p>Parker shook his head. “It’s okay. My neck and shoulder are just kind of fucked up. It’ll heal. I’m fine.”</p><p>But Tony knew better. The swift way Parker blocked out an inquiry after his wellbeing said it all - he had no idea whether or not he was fine. He hadn’t taken the time to assess as much yet. His mind was still reeling; Tony could practically see the gears inside the kid’s head starting to smoke as they sped like car tires.</p><p>“Let me see,” he said. Parker hesitated only for a moment. Then he turned the water off, shook his hands dry, and allowed Tony to poke and prod at the back of his neck. He winced as the man’s fingers moved over his scapula and clavicle. “Probably just some nasty bruising - it’s gonna hurt worse in the morning than it does now. I don’t think anything’s broken. You’d know if it was. Shoulder breaks are fucking nasty.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Parker said it as if he’d already known as much, but he exhaled deeply and relaxed beneath Tony’s hand. “Yeah. I’m fine.”</p><p>The sentiment was clear: he trusted Tony’s judgment of the situation more than he trusted his own feelings.</p><p>He trusted Tony’s judgment.</p><p>He trusted Tony.</p><p>“Yeah, Parker.” Tony clapped the kid’s good shoulder and pushed back the violent swell of emotion that rose inside him. “You’re gonna be fine. You did good, kid.”</p><p>If Tony was honest with himself, he could admit that maybe - <em> maybe </em>- he was beginning to trust the kid, too.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You can ask, Sir.”</p><p>Parker spoke without looking at him, and a small smile upturned the kid’s mouth. Tony quickly averted his eyes, jolted by the sensation of having been caught in the wrong.</p><p>It wasn’t his fault the kid’s phone was perfectly visible over his shoulder, right in Tony’s direct line of sight. From the place Tony had chosen to stand. Which was a completely nonsensical place to stand and had been chosen entirely on the basis of having a great view of the kid’s phone.</p><p>Whatever.</p><p>“You never told me your aunt was hot.” Tony moved to sit in a chair behind Parker and fought back a smirk as the kid turned to glare at him. “Watch the attitude you’re giving your superiors, Lieutenant.”</p><p>“Watch the way you’re talking about my aunt, <em> Sir.</em>”</p><p>If it had been any other Major that Parker spoke to so boldly, they might have bristled, put on their most serious tone, and doled out a punishment.</p><p>Tony laughed.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he said. “Aunt Hottie’s out of my league. But a man can dream.”</p><p>“Not about May he can’t,” Parker grumbled. “And, besides: aren’t you married? I don’t think your wife would be happy to find out you’ve been ‘window shopping.’”</p><p>Tony’s grip around the pen in his hand tightened. The words of the document before him suddenly seemed to be of no importance, all jumbled together and senseless. He cleared his throat and said, “Used to be married. Not anymore.”</p><p>There was a long pause.</p><p>“Oh,” Parker said quietly. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine, kid. She didn’t - I’m not a widower or anything. She divorced me. Took our daughter with her.”</p><p>“I’m still sorry. That sucks.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”</p><p>And wasn’t it convenient how Tony left out the part where he drove Pepper away, where he kept a physical and emotional distance from his daughter of his own accord? The part where his girls were the victims in all of this? The part where it was all his fucking fault?</p><p>Wasn’t it convenient how the only person he lied to about this was the wide-eyed, teenage Lieutenant whose respect he had somehow garnered, whose admiration he was terrified of losing?</p><p>“My fiancee and I are getting married in October,” Parker said suddenly, tone quiet and hesitant. Tony looked up. The kid held out his glowing phone like an offering - an olive branch, extended. “I kind of butchered the proposal, but she said yes, so it wasn’t that bad. Do you want to see?”</p><p>When Tony looked closer, he saw that the picture open on Parker’s phone was one of him and a girl, both in civilian clothes, outside a wonky-looking art museum. The photo had been taken with unfortunate timing, Parker’s body blurred and expression shocked as the ground rushed up to meet him and he fought to regain his balance. There was a little black box enclosed in his fist. The girl’s head of curls was thrown back as she laughed. A simple, silver band shone on her left hand. </p><p>“She thinks diamonds are pointless,” Parker explained, a dreamy sort of smile on his face. “She said if I ever gave her a giant engagement ring, she’d return it and put a down payment on a new car. I took her word for it.”</p><p>In spite of himself, Tony smirked. “She sounds very practical.”</p><p>Parker continued to flick through pictures, introducing his loved ones and occasionally pausing to tell a story.</p><p>Tony swallowed down the pieces of his whiskey-burned lie and listened.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony’s thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button.</p><p>He lay on his back in the dark, face lit by the screen’s glow, heart hammering. He knew the difference between the two time zones by heart - it was five forty-six in the evening in Manhattan. Pepper would have left work at five, would have picked up Morgan from her after-school program sixteen minutes before. They were probably stuck in traffic, bored. It was the perfect time to call. </p><p>His daughter wanted to hear his voice.</p><p>It was the perfect time to call.</p><p>His daughter <em> deserved </em>to hear his voice.</p><p>It was the perfect time to call.</p><p>Morgan deserved so much better than this bullshit.</p><p>It was the perfect time to call.</p><p>Tony put the phone down, rolled over, and went to sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony had seen a lot of devastation in his twenty years of service. He’d seen men that had been talking and laughing only seconds before die right in front of his eyes. He’d seen firefights and bombings and post-IED ambushes. </p><p>He’d never seen anything like <em> this.</em></p><p>They attacked the base at seven twenty-three in the morning, not even an hour after the sun rose. It was clear why: their onslaught came from the east, and sunlight blinded the troops as they scrambled to assemble and retaliate. Tony crouched behind a low wall, finger on the trigger and barrel aimed toward what he hoped was the invisible enemy in the distance.</p><p>“Major Stark!” A familiar voice said. Heavy breathing reached his ears as someone knelt beside him. “I’m here. I’m here to help. What can I do, Sir?”</p><p>And that was the moment Tony knew his attachment toward the Lieutenant had grown too strong, its roots now far too deep in the soil to be yanked up. His first instinct as the kid’s superior should have been <em> load up and fight. </em> It wasn’t, though.</p><p>His first instinct was <em> for the love of God if there is one, hide. Hide, cower, be safe. Hide hide hide. </em></p><p>“Cover me,” Tony said through gritted teeth and slid fully beneath the top of the wall. “I need to reload.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir.” Parker, obedient as ever, set up shop with his own M4.</p><p>Though tremors ran through his hands and his heart raced, Tony offered the kid a shaky grin. “Just like Call of Duty, huh?”</p><p>Parker smirked without looking at him. His eyes were less warm than usual, more steely and sharp, as they locked onto their targets. He adjusted the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, finger poised on the trigger. “Whatever you say, Sir.”</p><p>This wasn’t normal - not by most peoples’ standards. It was <em> their </em>normal, though. Their strange version of bonding. They traded fishing rods for guns, bait for bullets, open seas for wartorn battlefields. Tony wasn’t much for the arts, but there was something poetic in that, he thought. </p><p>He finished reloading his weapon, and together, they opened fire. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It happened in an instant.</p><p>Three and a half hours. The entire battle spanned three and a half hours. Parker only had to make it another twenty minutes. </p><p>Three weeks. Three weeks until their deployment ended, until they packed up and returned to Fort Drum, until the latest nightmare was over. Three weeks until the kid got to kiss his fiancee and hug his aunt and do that dumb and entirely too long secret handshake with his nerdy best friend. Parker only had to make it another <em> three fucking weeks. </em></p><p>But he didn’t.</p><p>Instead, he gurgled and choked on his own blood as Tony dragged him to shelter behind a building, screaming at Captain Quinn to take command as he went. Instead, he groaned, eyes glassy, as crimson poured from the bullet wound in his chest. Parker was supposed to live.</p><p>But instead - <em> instead </em>-</p><p>“Any medic hands available?” Tony screamed over his shoulder, though he knew his voice was hardly audible - if audible at all - over the roar of gunfire. “I need a medic! I need a fucking <em> medic!</em>”</p><p>“Hey,” Parker said from where his head rested in Tony’s lap, fingers clumsily reaching up to grasp at the older man’s sleeve. He offered a strained smile, but his teeth were blotted red and blood speckled his lips and chin. “‘S okay. ‘M okay.”</p><p>“This is <em> not </em> okay,” Tony snapped. He twisted his head and shouted again. “Medic! <em> Medic!</em>”</p><p>But Parker’s body trembled, and he choked as he coughed up another spew of blood. Tony looked down at the kid, grievous injury, brave face and all, and he <em> knew.</em> </p><p>He knew.</p><p>“‘M okay,” Parker said, and Tony realized he wasn’t saying that he was <em> going </em> to be okay, but that he was okay <em> with </em>this. That he was okay with dying. “‘S fine, Sir. ‘M okay. Okay.”</p><p>“God,” Tony gasped. Tears blurred his vision, and he blinked them away as another round of gunfire broke out. He raised one hand to cradle Parker’s face. The kid leaned sluggishly into his touch, and his heart shattered. “Fuck, kid. Fuck. I love you. Fuck this bullshit.”</p><p>“Love you,” Parker murmured back. Tony <em> felt </em>the kid’s strength leaving him, and he gripped him tighter, a desperate attempt to remind him he wouldn’t go alone. “Tell ‘em...my people…”</p><p>“I’ll tell them.” Tony leaned down and pressed a rough kiss to the kid’s forehead. “They know, buddy. But I’ll tell them. God, I fucking love you so much. You have my daughter’s eyes, did I ever tell you that? Just like hers. You little shit. I love you.”</p><p>Parker strangled around a half-formed laugh. It sounded horrific. It was the last sound he ever made. </p><p>He looked up at Tony. Despite his reassurances that everything was okay, that this was somehow <em> okay,</em> there was panic painted across the kid’s face in his last moments. Tony soothed him, one hand stroking his face, the other cradling the back of his head, lips poised with empty, murmured platitudes.</p><p>“You’re alright,” Tony said. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”</p><p>It didn’t mean anything. The words were nothing but pre-broken promises. Nonetheless, the kid relaxed.</p><p>Those big, brown eyes gazed at him for one extended final second. Then, they turned skyward, locked onto what should have been a beautiful day - and remained there.</p><p>Glassy. Unmoving. Empty.</p><p>Dead.</p><p>Tony held Lieutenant Peter Parker’s body close, face burrowed into his bloody, unmoving chest, and wept. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Tony set foot back on the tarmac, Rhodey was there.</p><p>For one brief moment of respite, Tony almost managed to convince himself that this was exactly where he’d been all along - that the last nine months hadn’t happened. That he was still standing there with his best friend and the thought of his shattered family, that he hadn’t left yet, that he might have somehow had the choice not to. That he’d never heard the name of Lieutenant Parker.</p><p>That illusion crashed down on top of him the second he took in the lines on Rhodey’s face, the sheen of sympathy over his eyes, the undeniable grief by association. Tony couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. Not when the weight of truth followed him everywhere. Not when he dragged it around like a ball and chain.</p><p>Denial wasn’t an option. Neither were any of the other stages of grief. None of them would bring Parker back. </p><p>He fell against Rhodey’s shoulder and cried.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Tones,” Rhodey whispered, arms vice-tight around him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”</p><p>So was he.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony missed the memorial service by a week and five days. </p><p>By the time deployment ended and he arrived back to his own cold, empty home, devoid of all life or light, Parker’s - <em> Peter’s </em> - fiancee, aunt, and friends had already received a folded up flag in his honor, had already watched as his body was lowered into the ground inside a stars-and-spangles pine box. Tony hadn’t been there to tell them pretty lies like <em> he wasn’t in any pain </em> or <em> he was at peace. </em>But, then again, he probably wouldn’t have lied to them even if he’d been there. </p><p>Rhodey crashed on Tony’s couch for that first week back, citing that he <em> shouldn’t be alone right now. </em>It was an uneventful few days. Tony slept and pretended to sleep and, every now and again, let his friend force food and water down his throat. </p><p>The first night Rhodey left him to his own devices, Tony reached for a spare bottle of whiskey hidden in a kitchen cabinet. </p><p>And then he stopped. </p><p>The bottle of Jack called to him as he showered, cried howling, inhuman cries into the steamed bathroom, and climbed into bed sober. </p><p>Rhodey was wrong, Tony realized as he began to drift. The man had told him over a year before that it would be either love or tragedy that eventually pushed him back toward his family. But it wasn’t <em> either.</em></p><p>It was both.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Do you like LEGO?”</p><p>Morgan stared up at him from the floor of her bedroom, her gaze full of distrust, her mouth pressed into a firm line that reminded Tony so much of Pepper it hurt. She was surrounded by discarded toys - half-dressed baby dolls and tiny, metal cars lined up in weaving rows of traffic.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Morgan whispered, and Tony could have cried. Almost <em> did </em>cry.</p><p>It was the first time he’d heard his daughter’s voice in eleven months. </p><p>“Well.” Tony cleared his throat and blinked back the blur of his vision. “I got you a birthday gift. It’s, uh-”</p><p>“My birthday isn’t for twelve more days,” Morgan said. “Mommy has a chart in the kitchen.”</p><p>“An early birthday gift, then.” Slowly, hesitantly, Tony sat across from her, careful not to mess up her perfect miniature traffic lanes. “This one’s a time machine. Do you want to build it with me?”</p><p>“It looks like a car.”</p><p>“Uh. Yeah. It’s from a movie.”</p><p>Morgan perked up at that. “Can we watch the movie?”</p><p>“Maybe - maybe when you’re a little older.” Tony winced. “It’s still a little too grown-up for you, I think.”</p><p>“How old do I have to be?”</p><p>Had she always asked this many questions? “Uh - eight?”</p><p>“Deal!”</p><p>Eight was probably still too young for <em> Back to the Future </em> - no doubt Pepper would be unhappy that he’d made her such a promise. </p><p>But there was a slight smile on Morgan’s face as she watched him open the box. Her big, brown eyes were full of light, of curiosity, of life. It was going to be difficult to maintain her joy, to work his way up to having her full trust again. </p><p>It was worth it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You were right,” Tony said quietly, sitting on the couch in Pepper and Morgan’s small city apartment. “I need help.”</p><p>Pepper, who had just emerged from Morgan’s bedroom after putting her down for the night, looked at him sharply, eyes wide. “I was <em> what </em>now?”</p><p>“Right.” Tony gave her a wry smile and hesitantly met her stare. She slowly sunk into the armchair across from him. “You were right. I’ve got - mental shit going on. I need to take care of it. I should have taken care of it a long time ago.”</p><p>“That’s...good to hear,” Pepper said slowly. Tony hated the way she looked him up and down, eyes narrowed in distrust, but he couldn’t blame her for it. “You’re not a bad man, Tony. You never were. The good in you just...got a little dirty. I’m glad you’re ready to dust it off. You deserve to be happy again.”</p><p>He didn’t. Not really. For his girls’ sake, though, he would choose to be happy anyway. Subjecting himself to the sort of life he deserved came with collateral damage. He saw that now.</p><p>Tony wasn’t a good man. Not at his core. The only truly good man he’d ever known had died in his arms under a desert sun as big, brown eyes turned skyward.</p><p>But for Pepper and Morgan’s sake, maybe - <em> maybe </em>- he could become one.</p><p>“I’m sorry I put you two through all this shit.” The words burned worse than whiskey, but Tony pressed on. It needed to be said. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I can’t believe it took me this fucking long to see it.”</p><p>“Wow.” Pepper sighed. “This is, uh - well. It’s a total one-eighty, Tony. The last time we spoke, you refused to admit you even had a problem. What changed your mind?”</p><p>Tony smiled.</p><p>“I met this kid - Lieutenant Parker…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>do you have a tumblr? <a href="https://motherkarizma.tumblr.com/">so do i!</a> come scream at me about irondad &amp; ironfam!</p><p>if you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment!</p><p>thank you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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